Читать книгу A Jewish Journey - Sheldon Cohen - Страница 14

“As things are now, I have no solution for your sons and mine. I have no power to change things here in Tiktin or in Russia. I raise my face to God to ask for divine intervention. I appeal to you all not to do anything violent at this time, for you know the consequences. Your lives will be forfeit and your sons will become Czarist soldiers quicker then they otherwise would have.”

“I didn’t come here expecting any answers, Rabbi. I know that if we don’t meet the quota of recruits into the Czar’s army, we’ll all suffer as a community. We are but puppets on a string pulled by the Czar. I cry out in helplessness. It’s better to be dead than to be a slave,” cried Prushkin, his voice rising and his face more distorted with grief.

“If you continue to think that way you’ll surely die. To stay alive we must look to our faith for guidance. We live a life of beauty and Torah. There is some hope. Don’t forget, not every twelve-year-old will go into service. Our children may escape their fate. There may be a change in policy. A new Czar may take over who will have a better sense of fairness. Even some of the gentiles say this practice of stealing our children is unfair. So, we must work with this group and see if we can change things. That’s our best and most realistic hope.”

“You’re a dreamer, Rabbi, if you think that anyone will work with us to change things. The penalty would be death,” said Katz.

“Remember the story of Moses. His task was far greater then anything we could envision, but he prevailed. He did not try to change a country; he tried to change a world! Go now. Do nothing foolish. We’ll talk more later.”

The three men left and the rabbi sat alone at the table. When Anna heard the men leaving, she came into the kitchen and sat down next to him. She took one look at his serious expression of concern and left the room.

After several minutes, he walked into the next room, formerly occupied by his daughters, now a study for him and sewing room for his wife. She occupied one corner, but most of the room was a library filled with books stacked on homemade bookcases. He sat on an upholstered chair and thought of his father, Meir Tepperovitch who had died eleven years ago.